Haunted Memories: The Redux
by Dreams2Paper11
Summary: !HAUNTED MEMORIES REDUX! Danny's been kept inside a GiW facility for three years. His memory is gone. His powers need help. He suffers from severe psychological trauma. So it's a good thing that a group of superteens is going to help him through it all, right? Featuring Fatherly!Vlad, Justice League, Dani, Titans, Sam, Tucker, Clockwork, and probably a fair share of others.
1. Prologue

**AN: Before you start hurling rocks at me, let me explain. I started writing Haunted Memories when I was eleven years old. I'm fourteen now. I literally winced every time I read over the posted chapters. Mistakes everywhere, horribly stilted dialogue, completely OOC moments, and so many plot holes the story could have been swiss cheese. However, it was special to me since it was the first story I'd posted, and I knew I had a lot of people who really wanted me to continue, but I couldn't. After certain sad things in my life and high school, I simply didn't have the time, motivation, or heart for that story anymore. But that's okay. I told myself, "Dreams, there is no way in heck you are leaving your friends on this site (because I do consider you all my friends :)) out of a story."**

**So, I decided on a redux. **

**Main problems with Haunted Memories-too slow, too hideously stupid at points, plot holes, OOC Danny taken to extreme, character bashing, and horrible writing itself. **

**In this piece, 1. DANNY WILL BE MORE TRAUMATIZED/INSANE. 2. JUSTICE LEAGUE ARE INVOLVED RIGHT FROM THE START. 3. SAM AND TUCKER ARE NOT EVIL. 4. VLAD IS IN RIGHT FROM THE START. 5. ROMANCE WILL NOT BUILD UP UNTIL MUCH, MUCH, FLIPPING MUCH LATER. **

**I'm really truly sorry if you're disappointed in me. I'm sort of mad at myself, too. But I hope this redux of it will change your minds.**

**.**

**.**

Inhale.

1. 2. 3. 4.

Shouts and screams from outside, in the brightbrightbright corridor, in the Beyond.

He inhaled slowly. Slowly, because it hurt so bad so bad but he would survive, **he would, **but it hurt so so much and he was so tired.

Exhale.

5. 6. 7. 8.

A shuddering boom, one that seemed to rock the entire complex. It vibrated his manacles, thus rattling the horrific needles embedded in all of his nerve points. He whimpered. _("Pathetic, X-79. Again." Thud, whimper. Blood dripping. A heel digging into his side. He'd failed. "Do it again.")_

Inhale. His lungs struggled to draw in some of the over-cooled, sterilized air.

9. 10. 11. 12.

A bright fuchsia glow briefly lit up the tiny, rectangular, wire-crossed windowpane set into the steel door. He winced at the brief flare of light. His body trembled. The needles hurt, so badly, but he did not say anything._ ("Very good, X-79," he restrained an agonized whine as a gloved hand ruffled his white hair and the machine powered down. He squashed the sense of earnest longing at the physical touch, but could not prevent himself from lurching desperately into the gentle contact. "You lasted nine hours without making a sound.")_

The loudest noise he had heard in a very long time suddenly tore into his hypersensitive eardrums.

Exhale. Its soothing sound was lost among the sudden whirlwind of sounds._ (Noise noise too much noise he wanted craved silence noise bad noise.)_

13. 14. 15. 16.

The door _(So large too big no escape too intimidating pain cold hard)_ was wrenched off its hinges. Its melted, crumpled form skidded into the room, throwing bright orange sparks that made pretty spots of light dance across the backs of his eyelids._ (Lovely orange hair, turquoise eyes.)_

He did not flinch. _(Keep quiet silent nice silence.)_

Loud, thumping footsteps, like leather boots on linoleum, accompanied by red flashes from the immaculate white hallway's alarm. A sharp intake of breath. It went _whoosh_. Like waves, or the wind, or missiles firing from the terrifying white muzzles of guns—

A presence hovered over him. A soft glow seeped through his closed eyelids, but he did not open them. Something bubbled up in his throat, something icy and viscous and he coughed slightly as it tumbled fluidly out of his mouth, easily flowing past his numb lips and curling into the air. A shudder rippled up his spine once. _("Welcome to The Ring, X-79. Begin." But no he did not want to fight, he did not want to destroy them, but his ghost sense was so strong it almost choked him and he had to they told him to it wasn't his fault please stop stop _stop_.)_

Inhale, shaky. The needles bristling in his arms and legs bit into the pale flesh viciously at the quiver of movement, but he did not react. Must not react.

Inhale.

17. 18. 19. 20.

Somebody spat a foul four-lettered expletive that quickly devolved into a long string of muttered curses.

"Help me free him."_ (He wanted to be free so very badly, but it had been too long, too long, and anyway, he was safe here yes nice and safe and cold and safe and safe.)_

A tapping sound, like a finger against glass. Somebody had started crying. He wondered fuzzily to himself why they would do that. Tears were pointless. _("No tears this time, X-79. You wouldn't like another session in The Box, would you?")_

Exhale.

21. 22. 23. 24.

"Mr. Foley, it would do well for you to remember that we do not have all day," a tense voice snapped irritably, the same voice from earlier.

He cringed mentally. _(Angry voices meant drugs, or shocks, or The Box, or, worst of all, The Ring.)_

"I know, I know!"

Stressed, frustrated, pained, angry. He carefully picked apart each note of emotion that bled through the young voice, just like he had been trained, and shouldn't they be happy?

More frantic tapping.

"There, I've got it." Satisfaction, relief. The tapping ceased after one last purposeful, forceful jab at the glass-screen.

The next second, the needles that impaled his arms retracted with a small whirring noise, tearing with them thick scabs and bits of flesh that had grown around the injection entrances. A small flare of panic squeezed his heart—they said he was never ever to be without his medicines because they would make him better and wouldn't he like to be better? But now the needles were leaving and the panic increased because they hadn't yet set the collar on and he found himself awaiting the reassuring snap of cool metal enclosing his skinny, soft throat. It did not come.

He forgot to inhale, but that was okay, because breathing was a luxury, an unneeded one.

Next, the hefty steel braces encasing his legs suddenly hissed and expanded as the air locks released, allowing the needles to be yanked out of his veins, and the braces—both the ones on his arms and legs—folded in on themselves, drawing back into the walls.

Wet, metallic liquid coursed down his bare arms, trickling between his limp fingers, and more of the same liquid was streaming from his legs, but that did not matter, because he was tipping forward, falling falling—_just like that time so long ago—_

Except he did not hit the ground. Strong arms wrapped around his chest, crushing the tubes that snaked beneath the pristine bandages and into his chest. It hurt.

Physical contact. He began to shake shamefully, fascinated by the hot pulse that thrummed through the chest his head was currently leaning against. The spots where his bare skin touched the other's clothed body were swirling with fire, the abused nerve points screaming out in exhilaration and pain, because he was sensory-deprived and it hurt so badly but he loved it so very very much _("Oh Danny, did you bump your head? Come, let me hug you, sweetie.")_

"Sam, the tubes."

He was laid on the ground; gentle hands traced the tubes in his chest and it was almost too much—he wanted to fade again, but the fiery feelings battling the drugs kept him awake.

"I know. He probably had too much blood in his lungs; an injury most likely. They have to change the tubes at least once a week, and the logs said they switched every Sunday, so the medication they put him on, probably morphine, is still in effect."

"Can we get them out?"

A short silence. He trembled, eyes lightly closed in bliss, lulled by the pinpoints of stunning warmth that delivered the lightest pressure of the softest touch to his chest.

"Give me the kit and help me move him into a semi-Fowler's position. Vlad, I need your cape."

A tearing sound. He was lifted slightly and something soft—so soft, like a cloud—was piled underneath him.

Small scissors went snip snip snip at the bandages tightly bound around his chest, protecting the tube insertions. The sutures holding the tubes in place were cut away a moment later too, and icy, disinfected air stung his suddenly bare chest.

The soft hands jerked suddenly, and a low, feminine voice muttered a curse. "I almost cut the purse-strings," the voice said, as way of explanation. "That could have been bad."

Seconds passed. The hands continued to work. He suppressed an uncomfortable squirm. _("Now X-79, behave, and I promise you, the surgery will be over quickly, okay?")_

"Danny? Danny, I need you to breathe for me." The girl was speaking again, stroking his face, but he did not hear. It was as if fireworks had exploded beside his head, bathing his cheek in loving tendrils of flame. Instead, he reflexively jerked his hand up to grip the soft, slender fingers, stopping them mid-caress. A stifled gasp, but it did not matter, as long as the sweet, comforting touch did not move away—

"Danny, you're hurting me, let go." Trembling, tightly wound in pain.

He wondered at that for a second._ ("Please stop you're hurting me please don't do this please please stop!")_

He let go a moment later.

The hands started working again after a small hesitation. The klaxons, which had gone silent a while ago, suddenly started up again and more curses floated around the room which was suddenly flashing red every two seconds.

"Hurry, Sam!"

"I'm trying, but he needs to breathe for me to remove the tubes!"

Oh, he wondered. Why hadn't they mentioned that earlier? His brow furrowed in slight irritation. He had stopped counting. He'd need to start all over again.

Inhale.

1. 2. 3. 4.

"Good, keep doing that," the girl encouraged, seemingly surprised, but he could not hear very well through the blaring alarms.

Then, during the height of one of his inhalations, the hands gently but swiftly tugged the tubes from his chest. They made a sickening _shlep _sound as they were pulled free. Quick snaps, closing the ends of the tubes, stopping his medication from squirting out—he panicked again, slightly afraid; he needed his medicine to get better!

"Usually, you're supposed to document the patient's respiratory status and vital signs before and after removal, but we don't have the time." The voice twisted off into a low, keening growl of frustration. "Hand me the occlusive dressing!" More bandages, wound very tightly around his entire chest and back, and the strong arms from before had elevated him off the floor slightly so the slender arms could pass the roll of tape around his back.

He was strongly discomforted, but he kept his tongue nice and still, no talking.

"That's as much as I can do for now. Vlad, get us out of here."

"Happily," the deep, rich voice snarled in reply, scooping him up. There was another glow that lit up the backs of his closed eyelids and another pleasant whoosh.

"I love portals," the young male voice muttered, the one who'd done the taptaptapping, and Danny felt himself moving forward, and for a second, it felt like he was being pinched all over, but then the sensation stopped a few unbearable seconds later. He could feel cool wintry air rolling across his skin, and hear a sudden chorus of sounds that he had not heard in a long time, like crickets and owls and trees creaking and stirring in the breeze, and suddenly, the sensations became blindingly overwhelming.

Exhale.

5.

6.

7.

8.

His eyelids fluttered open.

It had been three long years since Danny Fenton had seen the night sky.

He would have liked to examine it some more, but his nerve points were tingling ever so pleasantly, and he was so very weary. He allowed the morphine lurking in his veins to claim him once more.

Somehow, he had a feeling he'd be seeing more of the sky in the future, anyway.

**.**

**.**

**AN: I hope you guys liked it. As you can see, Danny is way more traumatized. You can see Stockholm Syndrome already in the italicized dialogue. Another thing-italicized means flashbacks. It's not always the GiW. It can be scenes from his childhood, spoken words, moments, feelings, anything like that. **

**Have a nice weekend, guys. (and girls.)**


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: I don't know about you guys, but I'm really pumped for this story. And shorter chapters (hopefully) equals faster updates. Isn't that glorious?**

**Look, I'm sorry about the old story. I really am, but it's time to move on. My special, special thanks to all who understood (no matter how grudgingly) and approved of the redux. Thank you for your support. **

**Questions and answers are at the bottom of the chapter. **

**.**

**.**

Vlad Masters sipped his glass of water silently, poised and dignified on the luxurious black leather couch. His silver hair had been neatly pulled back into a low ponytail and tied with a silk black ribbon. His goatee had been carefully trimmed. His dark Armani suit had been freshly laundered and pressed, and his dress shoes had never been shinier.

Appearances, he knew, were important—especially in first meetings.

He checked a solid gold watch on his wrist discreetly, inwardly suppressing a tendril of annoyance. Wayne had kept him waiting for ten minutes past the designated meeting time.

As he sat, he idly looked around, his sharp cobalt eyes absorbing any information offered that could tell him more about the billionaire playboy. The study was quite modestly furnished, to be frank, when compared to Wayne's paycheck. Unlike Vlad's office, which could comfortably house a small family.

There were a few blank yellow notepads on the large steel-and-glass desk's surface, accompanied by silver-barreled pens and a small pack of blue Post-it notes. If he angled his neck just so, he could see a small, unobtrusive picture frame standing guard at the far corner of the desk—a nice photograph of Mr. Wayne with his hand resting on his ward, Richard Grayson, who looked rather young in the picture, perhaps only eleven or twelve at the time.

His eyes drifted to his watch once more, his fingers twitching.

Maybe he could rifle through the desk quickly, maybe find some in—

The door handle clicked, and Vlad straightened his posture, turning as if he'd never laid eyes on the desk in his life. Mr. Wayne entered a moment later, smiling widely, holding a simple yet elegant black briefcase.

The man was rather massive, Vlad reflected idly as Wayne offered his apologies for his lateness and smiled good-naturedly. He could easily imagine the muscles rippling underneath that cleverly loose jacket; could see them, defined, in a dark, Kevlar-enforced suit…

"My secretary informed me that your reasons for calling this meeting were withheld. Is there something you need?" Wayne settled himself into the armchair opposite of Vlad, busying himself by filling up his own glass with icy water.

Vlad's lips twisted slightly in a scowl. As if he needed something—

But this time, a voice whispered in his head, you **do** need his help.

And as if that wasn't irritating enough… Vlad itched to blast the purposefully ditzy smile off the man's face, tease out the true persona lurking underneath. Or perhaps it was the other way around? Was Bruce Wayne really the mask, or was the Bat?

"I trust your office is secure?" He drawled coolly, taking another small sip from his glass. Wayne sobered slightly at his grim expression.

"Of course."

"Then," Vlad's eyes sparked as he leaned forward slightly, "I suppose we shall get down to business, hmm?" He paused, letting the tense silence fall just a little deeper, before adding, "…Batman."

… All things considered, Wayne was a fantastic liar. Not a single facial muscle twitched in surprise or shock. He arched a heavy black brow instead, as if to say, Are you insane? "Excuse me?"

Vlad stared back levelly. "You heard me," he said softly, slowly, the words dripping power and control and grace, like a black panther stalking from the shadows. "Tell me," he said suddenly, "was Penguin contained? Is the bank secure? I'm sure those troublesome policemen made a quick escape difficult… I'm surprised you managed to make it here in such good time."

Heavy silence.

Wayne examined him critically with suddenly diamond-hard blue eyes.

Vlad suppressed a smile. There we are.

He waited, courteously allowing the man to cognate. When a few seconds passed, Vlad prompted, "Please don't make this any more difficult than it has to be, Wayne. If you'd like, I could pull up the evidence…"

His hand strayed to the compact, sleek black tablet currently in his pocket.

"That's not necessary," Wayne said harshly—honestly, Vlad could hardly blame him. He'd be upset too if a man strolled into his office and threw his secret in his face with utmost confidence. Wayne's fingers tightened on the armrests, straining the leather. "What do you want?"

Vlad hesitated in consideration, rolling the rich feeling of superiority around his tongue, like the taste of some exquisite dish. It was a glorious, addicting taste.

"I want a lot of things, Mr. Wayne."

"I'm sure you do… Plasmius."

…Well, he couldn't say he was surprised. After all, this was the greatest detective on earth.

He raised his glass nonchalantly, tipping it in Wayne's direction and smirking slightly. "Touché. But what I want…" he slowed, articulating his next words reluctantly, "… is your assistance."

Ah, now there was some emotion. A bit of surprise flickered in those cold gray-blue eyes.

"I'm sure you've heard of the GiW," Vlad said as he reached forward and set the slim tablet on the handsome lowest table between them. He paused as he set it down, noticing Wayne tense, and added, "And please don't break my Holotablet. I promise you, all pieces of evidence have already been transferred to several other databases so encrypted I'm sure even you would have trouble breaking them." Wayne narrowed his eyes.

Vlad smiled momentarily, then turned grim once more. He tapped the surface of his tablet, waking it. A transparent, glowing blue rectangle suddenly appeared, floating above the tablet. He raised his hand, letting it scan it. The rectangle then expanded drastically, turning into something like a screen. Vlad flicked it, turning it to the side so he could see Wayne clearly. Wayne was a dangerous man, after all.

"This is Desmond Wrift," he began. A picture of a massive, rather severe-looking Caucasian man in a calf-length white trench coat appeared. The camera angle looked as if the picture had been taken from high up, and the man was unaware he had been photographed. His head was shaved, and sleek, reflective sunglasses that wrapped around his head hid his eyes. His gloves were black and thick. His bloodless lips were pressed together in a thin line and unsmiling. "6 feet seven inches tall, age thirty-six, unmarried and no children. He is the head of the GiW."

A smaller holo appeared, a white circle, like a button, and Vlad tapped it with his index finger. It too expanded, filling with a cramped, eerily neat scrawl of notes.

A note of genuine disgust seeped into Vlad's tone. "He formulated and oversaw what was named Operation Rehabilitation."

Wayne lifted a black brow at this, but Vlad carried on. "Operation Rehabilitation involved kidnapping a young thirteen-year-old boy, bringing him back to their facility, and, in essence, brainwashing the boy into a weapon they could use."

Vlad brought up a picture of a small, lean boy with messy ink-black hair and extremely bright, beautiful blue eyes. The boy's arms were slung around two other people; a pale girl with dark hair and Gothic/punk clothes, and a dark-skinned boy with an easygoing smile and a red beret.

"The boy's name is Danny Fenton."

"Danny Phantom," Wayne interjected softly, having noted Vlad's voice drop in volume. Vlad nodded, his eyes fixed on the picture. His eyes had gone dark and far away.

"Indeed. Daniel was kept in the organization's headquarters for three years. They were extremely thorough. It took me two and a half years to discover their hand in the abduction, and the rest of the year to find a way into their highly-guarded facility."

He touched all five digits to the screen and drew them together, minimizing the holoscreen. It winked out of existence.

"I rescued him six weeks ago." Vlad hesitated, then confessed, "He is not well."

"What does this all have to do with me?" Wayne finally asked, clasping his fingers together. Vlad's eyes flashed ever so slightly.

"Everything." He met Wayne's stare head-on. "He hasn't responded well to therapy, no matter who I employed. The fact of the matter is that no human or adult can relate to him, or get him to lower his guard. I tried sending him to a teenage video game club." A wistful look clouded his eyes briefly. "I hoped the interaction with young people would acclimate him to society once again."

"What happened?" Wayne pressed.

Vlad sighed. "A boy grabbed him by the arm in order to get his attention. Daniel, out of self-defense, broke every single bone in the child's hand. I had to pay his family generously to prevent them from suing."

"Your point?"

Vlad stood, leisurely walking around Wayne's desk and picking up the picture frame. Wayne tensed fractionally.

"I understand you have a young charge of your own. Richard Grayson, also known as Robin. He is around the same age as Daniel, highly trained in martial arts and an accomplished acrobat with a brilliant mind. I hope to introduce the two. I believe Richard can handle himself, and it would do Daniel loads of good to have a friend… even if he is a hero."

"Your idea puts my ward in potential danger," Wayne cut in, his voice dangerously calm. "I do not like that."

"Oh, I know… I anticipated you would feel like that," Vlad said absently. "Which is why I've organized every bit of evidence to your other identity—and believe me, I have amassed quite a lot—and put it in the hands of a reporter I trust. With just one phone call, the scandalous story of Wayne's Secret Life will be plastered over the front page of every single mega newspaper."

He turned, unable to fight off the victorious smile at Wayne's silent growl. "And if you attempt to expose myself in return, it will only make you look more desperate remove the attention from yourself.

"You're blackmailing me," Wayne snarled quietly.

Vlad tipped his head. "Well, actually, I would rather not reveal your identity. Such a forthright approach is not really my style. Think of as… insurance, if you will. I'd prefer that you would help him simply out of the goodness of your heart. That is what heroes do, after all, isn't it? Help people?"

Wayne, with effort, eased his snarl. "Of course. I was doing my own research on the boy's disappearance, if you must know. I was already suspicious of the GiW's involvement, but had no solid evidence."

Vlad delivered a dazzling smile. "So you agree?"

Bruce faltered, looking slightly uncomfortable for the first time. "My ward is not in Gotham at the moment," he said at last. "But I'll speak to him about it."

Vlad closed his eyes (most definitely not out of relief, nope) before he spoke. "That's all I can ask for."

**.**

**.**

**Common Questions and my Beautifully Articulate Answers:**

**Do the GiW know where Danny is?**

I'll reveal that probably sometime in the future.

**Will Danny have the same costume as before?**

Eventually, yeah. I loved that costume—no way am I done with it.

**Why aren't Sam and Tucker and Danny's family evil?**

Newsflash—they actually weren't evil in the old story, either. I originally had them possessed by ghosts willing to work for the GiW. You all would have found that eventually.

**Will Danny permanently be Amnesiac?**

Nope. He'll get his memories pretty quickly—he just doesn't recognize or care about them. His powers aren't gone either—simply more restrained and refined.

**Will this still be Danny/Raven?**

Yup.

**When does this take place in the Titan's continuity?**

Before they even formed. To be honest, I felt I was bashing Robin's character in the old story. This Robin is going to have way more of a brotherly bond with Danny in the future.

**Why did you say Danny was captured when he was thirteen? Doesn't he get his powers at fourteen?  
**I bumped all of the Danny Phantom episodes ahead one year. So he was in eighth grade, not a highschooler yet.

**Where is Danny's family?**

I'm not quite decided on how soon I want to bring them in… If his parents knew about him, they surely wouldn't let him out of their sight, and for the sake of this story, that wouldn't work out.

**Are you deleting the old story?**

Heck no. I'll leave it up. I hate it when authors delete their stories. I won't be continuing it, however, so please don't PM me or complain in a review "Continue the old story" "or "I can't believe you did this". I'm sorry that I upset you guys, but honestly. At least I'm giving you something. I truthfully had zero interest in HM anymore.

If you want a Danny scene quickly, I suggest you review. Remember, as always, reviews equal inspiration!


	3. Chapter 2

**OHMAHGOSH I love you guys! Thanks so much for the enthusiastic responses! Do you know how hard it is for me now to write in past tense? I kept randomly switching to present throughout this whole mamma-jamma, so tell me in a review if I messed up.**

**Chapter 3: ****One Week Later**

**.**

**Robin**

**.**

"This is Richard, Bruce's so—"

"Ward," the raven-haired teenager interjected sourly. "And I prefer Dick."

Masters raised a silver eyebrow. "Ah yes, of course, my apologies." His gaze transferred to the silent boy beside him. "Ri—Dick, this is Daniel."

The slim, tanned youth, dressed for once in civilian clothes, politely extended a bare hand, smiling uneasily. "Hello."

The silent boy beside Masters did not speak, nor lift his head. Robin awkwardly withdrew his hand after a few moments of eerie silence, tucking it back in his jacket's pocket as if he'd been burned. "Um, nice to meet you."

Masters nudged the sickly-pale teen gently. "Daniel," he reprimanded softly, "be polite."

Daniel did not respond.

Masters sighed and suppressed the urge to massage his temples. "X-79, say hello." He nearly growled the words. They seemed to want to jump right back down the man's throat.

The pale, leanly-muscled body hunched beside him suddenly trembled, the shoulders shaking. Robin's eyes, hidden by the tinted sunglasses, flicked up to Masters', noting the strange lack of reaction. If anything, the man seemed grudgingly used to the boy's strange response.

Daniel's head suddenly jerked up, flinging long black fringe out of his eyes. Robin barely prevented himself from recoiling.

The boy was smiling gruesomely, showing his teeth, his vacant eyes stretched wide. Everything on the expression seemed distorted, wrong, and fake.

"Hello." His voice was conversely quiet and monotonic, only serving to exacerbate the horror of his smile—or grimace. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Um… yeah."

Robin cursed Batman in his head a thousand times, holding back a scowl. Trust Batman to reveal his secret identity to some high-class villain (he still didn't know how that had happened), dump him with an obviously impaired kid, and order him to get to know the boy. This was probably his sick revenge for leaving and running off to Jump.

"Well, I'll leave the two of you to get acquainted." Masters smiled reassuringly and lightly squeezed Daniel's shoulder. "Behave yourself," he added, a bit of steel firming his words.

"Is that an order?" Daniel's—X-79?—voice was still oddly flat and detached. Masters nodded curtly.

"Then, yes sir."

Masters' lips thinned slightly in dissatisfaction, but the man let it go, choosing only to pat the boy's shoulder once more.

"I'll pick you up at nine," he muttered, and then left the hotel lobby, his heels clicking smartly on the tile floor. The beaming receptionist waved an enthusiastic goodbye, obviously ecstatic that an extremely eminent billionaire had visited the hotel.

Probably planning on plastering Masters' face across her pamphlets, Robin thought dryly, as he watched the man climb into a sleek limousine through the clear revolving doors.

He turned back to the boy, pulling an easygoing smile over his lips. He hoped it reached his eyes.

"Hey there. My name is Dick, but you knew that, since your dad—um… since Mr. Masters already introduced me. Is it cool that I call you Daniel, or do you have another name?"

The boy was still smiling.

"X-79 is perfectly fine," he said, as if that had been one of the suggestions. The gruesome smile twitched a little. Robin watched the bloodless lips twitch and lower, as if uncertainly, settling back into a grim line.

"Oh… okay. Well, uh, can I call you X? For short?"

Would that make it any less strange? Surely others—as in normal people—had letter nicknames, right? 'X' would certainly blend in more than 'X-79'.

Danny did not move a single facial muscle, but Robin picked up on a slight tone of dislike.

"Is that an order?"

Startled, Robin rubbed the back of his neck, mouth hanging open.

At a complete loss, he did the only thing he had developed a bad habit of doing lately: he cursed Batman fervently in his head.

**.**

**X-79**

**.**

Inhale.

2. 3. 4.

He was not sure. He was not sure of this boy. The insecurity frightened him. He liked nice, regular schedules, like the one he followed at home. It was simple there.

But here?

It had been weeks, but the amount of people still intimidated him; their noise, their vibrant, angry colors… Why were there so many people? Why didn't they wear white? Didn't they see how amazing white was?_ ("We wear white, X-79, because it is a symbol of the blankness of our work. No attachments. No troublesome morals. That is why your suit was modified to white. Don't you like it? Isn't it liberating?")_

His hands lay limp at his sides, but he itched to tug at the green shirt Masters had forced him to wear. The material was thin and soft, contrary to his old white suit at home. He longed for it.

"Are you hungry?"

Exhale. Breathing was still a strange sensation—or rather, the necessity of it that his weak human form now required. He'd found early on that if he tried not to breathe in this form, he would turn blue and begin to pass out. Masters had been very angry—or was it exasperated—when he'd had to intervene.

X-79's eyes slowly drifted once again at the sound of Dick's voice. Hungry? He thought, confused slightly, because hunger was still, even after weeks of regular, full meals at Masters' insistence, a foreign concept to him. He did not eat much back home. He was not starved, no, _("You need your strength for today, X-79~! Today is a lab day!")_ but he was not exactly given full reign to eat whatever he wanted. His eating schedule had been meticulously planned by the orderlies, always given to him at set regular times. The sudden wide sea of available choices still unnerved him.

"Hey? You in there? X?" Two pale slender fingers snapped sharply in front of his face, and he squashed the instinct to grab them, grind them together, crush them into fragments _("It hurts, it hurts so bad! Why are you d-doing this? P-please stop!")_

"Food would be fine," he said simply, after a moment's pause, then added hastily, "You can choose what we eat." He'd discovered it was easier asking what other people wanted and going along with that. It took out the uncertainty factor.

"Okay, how about pizza?"

For the first time, X-79 really looked at Dick. They were quite similar in appearance, he mused. Both with shiny smooth black hair, blue eyes, and a semi-slim build. Although Dick's eyes were more lively, containing more of a… more of a spark, or something…

"That's fine."

As he followed after the older boy, he reflected. He couldn't remember, for the life of him, what pizza was. He had a feeling he'd like it though, so he obediently trailed the teen, hesitating only slightly when they exited the hotel and emerged into bright, bright daylight with all the scurrying, hurrying, innumerable people.

**.**

**.**

It burned his tongue, quite honestly. But the pain was nothing new or special, anyway, so he swallowed the long string of steaming cheese that had dripped over the side of his slice. Across him in the booth, Dick was ravenously eating his own slice of plain cheese pizza, giving ecstatic little moans of approval every now and then. X-79 considered imitating him in order to blend in more, but refrained from doing so, not wishing to look stupid.

"It's amazing, right Daniel? This is my favorite pizza joint in Jump."

He internally rolled his eyes, wondering why people were so stupid. Honestly… how hard was it to get a single name right? It was only three characters! Dick looked up in puzzlement when he refused to acknowledge the other's presence.

"Oh, sorry… I mean, X."

He blinked drowsily. The hot food in his hands was burning his chilled fingertips, but the warmth was nice and soothing. "Yes, my triangular piece of bread layered with melted cheese and excess sauce is amazing."

_(He'd rather have his usual rations, though, that he was provided with back at home.)_

Dick chuckled, and X-79 internally brightened slightly. He liked it when people laughed. It usually meant he'd done something right. _("You behaved nicely, X-79. As a reward, you will get to spend two hours out of your room for free time.")_

Outside, the sun was dying. Its last orange rays pierced the glass window of the little restaurant, creating patches of warm light on the table between the two boys. Dick checked his watch as he finished off the last bite of his pizza.

"Crud, it's eight-forty. We're gonna have to hurry if we want to get you back to Masters on time."

Privately, X-79 did not want to leave. He wanted to sit in this booth with the bright red, bouncy seats and the pretty glass windows and the food that scalded his tongue and wait for Wrift to come pick him up and take him home. He wondered why they hadn't collected him already. Perhaps they wanted him here?

An excited smile tugged persistently at his thin lips, the first bit of genuine emotion he'd shown in weeks. Perhaps this was a test? An infiltration mission?

Well, he would not fail, that's for sure. He hated failure; loathed it. Failure equated pain. _("You're forcing us to do this, X-79. It grieves us to have to punish you, but you must realize that failure is not an option, not now, not ever.")_

"So, have you ever played…" Dick was talking again, filling up the empty silence as they walked briskly down the street. The air was growing colder with night, and X-79 tuned the boy out as he tipped his head back to watch darkness seal itself over the earth, and the glittering pinpricks of light—stars, he thought dreamily—twinkle brightly, flaring different colors.

Then he squinted. There was something green in the sky; something unnaturally bright and big and…

…and heading right for them, growing larger by the second.

X-79 silently side-stepped the moment the high-pitched whine hit his ears, taking several large paces back as the green something hit the paved road at a tremendous speed, shattering concrete and shaking the very earth. Dick went flying from the shockwave. X-79 merely set his teeth and balanced on the pads of his feet, riding out the rough rumbles.

Steam unfurled from the huge crater that had utterly obliterated the street, hissing as it collided and mixed with the cool air. Edges of the jagged pieces of black pavement now ominously pointing at the starry heavens were super-heated, turned into liquid and dripping sluggishly. The air smelled acrid.

X-79 could hear a heartbeat; fast and hard. It came from the crater.

He reclined against a storefront window opposite the crater as the people—annoying, screaming, useless people—ran around like ghosts with their head cut off, shrieking shrilly. Perhaps it was the sudden shock of the impact? It wasn't everyday that something slammed into the street at superhuman speeds, right? X-79 frowned. He wasn't sure. He hadn't been outside in a very long time.

The heartbeat grew louder. Gravel and bits of pavement suddenly crunched crisply underneath boots as a figure appeared in the rapidly cooling steam.

It was a girl.

A girl with very tan skin, short red eyebrows, and long, fiery red hair held out of her pretty face by some sort of metallic crown/headband. Her outfit was strangely alien in design, composed almost entirely of sleek metal plates fitted over one another like chainmail. She wore a short skirt over the metal leggings and tall, mid-thigh dark purple boots.

Huge, cumbersome gauntlets—like handcuffs, almost—encased her hands, entirely hiding them from view.

X-79 noted that she also looked very very angry. _(Shock, scream. Pain. Electricity. Shame. They looked angry with him, so he didn't struggle. He felt guilt. They were angry with him. Why had he made them angry?)_

She shouted something in a strange, guttural language. X-79 ran it through his head, memorizing it. It sounded like nothing he'd ever heard before.

Strange. Her eyes were glowing, bright acid green, blazing so brightly that they spilled faint emerald light onto her features.

He watched in disinterest as she slid nimbly down a panel of upended pavement, screaming out a challenge in her strange guttural tongue, waving her manacled arms threateningly.

An obviously frightened tourist flinched as the girl glared at him, his finger slipping on his—oh, what was it called—camera and accidentally snapping a picture.

Wrong move. Very wrong move.

The girl recoiled from the bright flash of light, her handcuffed arms shielding her face as if she expected some sort of blow. A second later, she went on full rampage mode, screaming in renewed fury, sending the citizens running for their lives. Caught in the grip of her fury, she aimlessly picked up cars and threw them like they were pillows, using her shackles to smash public telephones and break the street benches.

X-79 curiously cocked his head. She gave off no spectral glow, so she couldn't be a ghost—

_—he would have already killed her if she was—_

Still though, her commendable strength intrigued him. An alien? His blue eyes dimmed. He remembered fighting an alien, once, in The Ring. Yet that creature had not been even vaguely humanoid in the slightest. He remembered having to rip out its heart to stop it.

_(Somewhere, deep within him, he hoped he would not have to do that again.)_

She started hitting the steel pillar holding up the upper balcony of the pizza shop he and Dick had just vacated, yelling out a syllable with every blow. She dented the steel badly in only three hits.

She looked agitated, actually. X-79 noticed her looking at her shackles in frustration—and maybe despair?—breathing heavily as she pulled back her arms for another try.

X-79 narrowed his eyes. She should know by now that trying to escape would only give her a reason for more punishment once her captors took her home.

Something sliced deftly through the air, hitting the metal headband and knocking the girl off her intended course. X-79 turned, looking at the slight figure perched on top of a nearby car. The teen wore a traffic-light themed uniform and a black cape, gold on the underside. His eyes were hidden by a black domino mask that lent his features an intimidating, no-nonsense air.

He wondered why—or when, even—Dick had dressed up.

"Who are you?" Dick growled, eyes narrowed as he stared down at the girl.

She responded by leaping into the air and coming down hard on the car. Dick back flipped just in time, landing smoothly on his feet, his face set in a look of utmost determination.

With grace and speed, he evaded all off the girl's wild, rage-fueled strikes, occasionally tossing something from the belt around his waist that would give off a loud bang and smoke. X-79 didn't like those. Too noisy.

Dick paused for a second too long as he watched her athletically lift a car into the air with her foot and then kick it in his direction. He avoided the car… but not her incoming fists.

X-79 tensed. Should he step in? Masters would not be happy if he had to carry the boy back on a stretcher.

She charged again. X-79 lit up his fingertips, allowing them to swirl with charged energy as he waited, timing it perfectly from the shadows—

A ram headbutted her out of the air. A green ram.

X-79 stayed his ectoblast, watching in detached intrigue as the ram morphed into a young, pubertal boy—a green-skinned boy with elfin ears and a toothy grin, wearing a purple, gray, and black uniform. Another superhero.

"Ex-doom patrol member Beat Boy reporting for duty, sir! How can I help?"

Oh, _dang_. X-79 almost winced. The child's voice was embarrassingly high-pitched and squeaky.

He turned away, uninterested, picking at a slightly overgrown nail. Dick had it covered, he guessed. No need for his help.

He walked away leisurely, hands in his pockets, humming a tune that Wrift had always liked. Maybe he would find another pizza place, or something. He was still kind of hungry.

**.**

**.**

Movie popcorn was still good when cold. He sat on the glass countertop, idly munching the buttery, fluffy kernels. Maybe he'd ask Wrift if he could have it as a snack, when he got back home. Then he wondered if Wrift even liked popcorn, and stifled an amused smile.

As he reached into the red and white waxed container, there was a noise from outside the theatre. He went silent (still eating the popcorn, of course) and watched as the alien girl from before—apparently Dick _didn't_ have it covered, after all—stalked into the theatre, breaking the doors open instead of opening them nice and quietly. X-79 himself had phased intangibly through the revolving glass panes, not wishing to leave a mess behind, but oh well, he supposed that couldn't be helped now.

She immediately reacted when she saw him, her hands flying up and forming fists. He vaguely noted that her shackles had been removed, revealing slender hands that undoubtedly packed a punch.

"Who are you?" She snarled. Apparently she could speak English now. X-79 tipped his head to the side, internally pleased at her question. People were always introducing him. This time, he'd introduce himself—and hopefully she'd get his name right.

"X-79. Who are you?"

She relaxed slightly when he didn't make a move to attack. "On your planet, I believe my name translates to Starfire."

"Oh. I like stars. Fire is okay, I guess." He peered into his half-empty popcorn bowl. "Are you hungry, too?"

She held her stomach, looking indecisive. Finally, she admitted, "Yes. Very." Her eyes strayed to the container of fluffy deliciousness in his pale white hands.

X-79 looked at his popcorn in dismay, then held the carton out. "Here."

She approached skittishly, like a wild animal. She swiped the carton from his hand and began eating with as much energy as she put into her fighting. Kernel shells went flying. X-79, deprived of his snack, phased his hand through the glass countertop and snagged a pink-iced donut.

Wrift wouldn't like popcorn, he decided. Too junky.

The moment Starfire finished off the popcorn, she moved forward, raising her hands to smash the glass container. X-79 shook his head at her and she paused.

"It's much easier this way." He slowly reached in again, gathering up an armful of the wrapped candies and donuts and sweets. He set them on the countertop and let his arms revert to normal. "Less glass to clean up."

"Oh. How did you do that?" She tore into a candy bar, gulping down the chocolate—along with the wrapper.

X-79 paused. "I… don't know. I just do it, I guess. I'm half-ghost so it's easy for me."

She didn't answer, too busy stuffing her face.

"X? What are you doing here?"

He looked up as Dick and several others approached, their eyes flicking cautiously from Starfire to X-79 and back.

"Eating."

_Duh._

"What kind of name is X?" The bulky one in a large gray hoodie muttered. X-79 ignored him.

"This is Starfire," he introduced, putting some emphasis on her name, pointing, oblivious, to the girl who had currently lit up her hands with blazing neon green energy. Maybe he could show Dick how to get peoples' names right.

"Easy!" Dick said in reference to her blazing fingertips, putting his hands up. "We're friends, remember?"

X-79 hopped off the counter, still eating his donut as he wandered over to look at the movie posters.

"Friends?" Starfire spat. "Why? For what purpose did you free me?"

"Just… trying to be nice." Dick flailed for answers, continuing to back up.

"Nice?" She seemed uncertain, hiding it behind a mask of anger. "We do not have this word on my planet. Closest is rutha. Weak!"

"Well around here, nice means nice!" The hulking boy with the glowing red eye spoke up. "And if you want us to keep being nice, you better tell us why the lizard king took you prisoner!"

_("Essentially, X-79," "Shuttup, that's not my name!" "Essentially, you are a prisoner here.")_

X-79 winced as his head throbbed momentarily.

Starfire extinguished her energy, suddenly appearing meek and shy. The unexpected turnabout in her personality drew X-79's eyes back to the conversation.

"Not prisoner," she corrected quietly. "I am… prize. The Gordanians deliver me to the Citadel, to live out my days as their servant."

Ah. A fellow spirit, then. _("You are a prize, X-79, aren't you?" A gloved hand, trailing lightly through his messy white hair, leaving tingles in his scalp.)_

He shivered, tugging lightly on the ends of his raven-black hair that tumbled messily past his eyes, wishing he could be home again. It was so tempting to transform into the form he was more used to, and simply soar out of the building and keep flying until he found home once again… but no, he couldn't. They left him here for a purpose. He would not leave until he fulfilled that purpose.

His interest in the conversation wavered once again, and he found himself blankly scrutinizing each new member of their little party.

There was the hulking teen with the glowing red eye. (X-79 could clearly see the robotic half of his face and wondered why he bothered trying to hide it.) Then there was the green-ram-boy with the squeaky voice, and then… then there was a cloaked figure with shining purple eyes that gleamed from the darkness of her hood.

She looked like she could be that Sam-girl's cousin, X-79 reflected. Of course, that was a judgment merely based upon examination of her eyes, but, oh well. No need to read too deeply into things—

He twitched, like a dog flicking its ear, because there was a slight rustle outside, he could hear it through the wall, and—

_BOOM._

The wall exploded, knocking Dick off his feet for the second time that day, along with his friends. X-79 was safe where he stood, however, and he easily batted a chunk of wall plaster out of the air before it could hit his face. The cut it left on his palm healed in a matter of seconds.

_"SEIZE HER!_" A gravelly, deep voice screamed, and X-79 only had time to muse on how funny it was that the girl alien couldn't speak English yet the freaky sci-fi lizard things could, before the hideous creatures spilled through the gap in the wall.

The people before him—the strange medley of troubled kids, X-79 thought to himself—flew into action. X-79 watched as they unconsciously worked together in a startling display of unity, acting like a seamless unit.

A hand harshly grabbed his shoulder and he just as harshly gripped it back, making Dick blink twice in surprise.

"X—citizen, you have to leave before you get hurt."

"Why, Dick? I'm fine." He honestly didn't know why Dick gave him a look of sardonic disbelief at that.

"How did you—uh—never mind, I don't know what you're talking abo—"

X-79 silently ripped the boy's mask off. Dick yelped in pain, clutching his face, but X-79 gripped his hands and forced them away too, revealing watery, brilliant blue eyes.

X-79 smiled. "Hi, Dick."

Dick gritted his teeth and snatched the mask back, fixing it on his irritated skin. "Call me Robin, okay?" He hissed venomously. "You're not supposed to know my secret identity!"

"Does this make Bruce Wayne Batman, then?"

Di—Robin, X-79 corrected himself sullenly (unlike the other teen, he knows how to address people by the name they prefer) dragged a hand down his face, and then tugged X-79's arm, leading him to the back exit.

"I'm serious—get out of here—!"

He threw open the back door and wheeled back as more of the creatures bursted through. X-79 laughed slightly at the situation. Amused, he reached a hand into the mass of creatures flying over their heads intent on joining the fight. His fingertips brushed against a soft, leathery wing. In an instant, a concentrated burst of icy, freezing energy shot from his core, exploding through his fingertips and manifesting into a bright blue beam of energy.

The unfortunate Gordanian hit the floor a moment later, completely shelled in ice.

"Hahaha!" Green-ram-boy cackled, lithely vaulting over a charging Gordanian. "A Gordsicle! Or, uh, wait, that was really stupid…"

X-79 formed a gun with his fingertips _(nice and shiny white, gleaming, aimed right at him)_ and fired bolts of ice energy from his stretched pointer finger, systematically freezing every Gordanian that entered his line of sight. One tried to sneak up on him, and he smiled for a second, spinning and catching the thing's meaty fist in his palm and throwing it hard, pouring all his frustration and homesickness and anger at his kidnappers into the motion.

The creature mewled like a kitten as it hit the wall and kept going.

_(He learned that in The Ring.)_

Suddenly, as quickly as the fight had begun, it was over. The Gordanians flocked together outside of the theatre and leaped into the air, fleeing, their hulking forms silhouetted by the moon.

"Since when could you do that?" Robin hissed in his ear, pulling him back from the group.

X-79 shook him off. "Since… since as long as I can remember." And it was true. Masters told him there was a time before, a period in his life before the white rooms and corridors and The Box and The Ring and Wrift, but X-79 didn't believe him.

Robin looked at him long and hard, then nodded respectfully and stepped back, walking over to the huddled group of teens. X-79 hesitated, then remembered his mission—infiltration—and followed him.

"I believe your expression is… thanks," Starfire said, watching the aliens fly away with barely veiled hatred. The African American robot looked at himself, crestfallen. Scraps of the gray hoodie clung sadly to his brawny shoulders.

"Aw man… my suit."

"So?" Beast Boy chimed in. "You look way cooler without it."

"Yeah… like I'm taking fashion advice from the guy in the goofy mask."

"Goofy? My mask is cool… isn't it? Raven?"

Robot-boy and Raven shook their heads silently.

"But… what about my secret identity?"

"What secret identity?" Raven asked. X-79 was surprised at how deep and quiet, almost scratchy, her voice was. "You're green."

Very true. X-79 stooped to pick up a piece of glass, tilting it so it caught the moonlight and he could see his vacant blue eyes in it. He played with the shard until Robin, while speaking, paused to give him a disturbed glance and lightly smack it out of his hands.

"Don't do that, you could get cut."

X-79 rolled his eyes, then felt a tremor of fear, because that was insolence and he might get punished for it.

_"FOOLS! THE EARTH SCUM WERE WARNED. YOUR INSOLENCE WILL BE PUNISHED."_

Wow, he thought, craning his neck to look up at the giant hologram projected over the entire city. Quick response time.

_"YOUR CITY SHALL BE DESTROYED!"_

And then a huge alien aircraft crawled over the sky, blotting out the moon.

"Great," Raven deadpanned, eloquently summing up everyone's feelings.

**.**

**.**

Raven's teleportation was not so different from his own, X-79 thought. Cold, dark, with the feeling of an empty vacuum sucking at you from all sides. He almost smiled at its familiarity.

"Whooo," Beast Boy shuddered, rubbing his arms. "That dark energy stuff gives me the—" and then he froze at the sight of Raven staring expectantly at him. "Uh—I mean, it's cool!"

X-79 turned and quietly phased through the walls of the ship, running lightly through each room. Robin said he wanted to find the firing room, so fine—he would find it for him. X-79 considered it as a way of paying him back for the pizza.

He knew he had found it when he reached the large chamber crawling with the aliens. Up a few steps, an alien, slightly larger than the rest but no less ugly, reclined importantly on a swivel chair… throne… thing.

"Lord Trogar, the weapon has reached full power!"

The alien leered nastily. "Then begin the firing sequence."

X-79 flickered into view, resting with his back against the control bank and his palm softly pressed to the touch screen, blocking the alien lackey, who reared back in surprise.

"Please don't," X-79 said softly, politely, as relaxed as if he was simply talking to a friend.

Trogar stood from his chair, reaching his full imposing height, and flexed his webbed claws. "A sneak, eh? I'll deal with you myself!" He charged down the dais, his footsteps thudding loudly, and roared his defiance. X-79 merely turned intangible and let the creature's massive fist pass right though the spot where his head would have been. Without wasting words, he gathered his being, imagined it to be a solid, tangible thing, and threw himself forward, obeying the luring call.

It only took a second to overshadow the clumsy alien.

Suddenly, he was over seven feet tall, with heavy, finned arms and a plated stomach and wings that were folded and pressed to his back.

"My Lord?" One of the Gordanians asked timidly. "Are you…"

"I am fine," X-79 spoke. His voice was raspy and deep. "I destroyed that pest. I felt his essence disperse the moment I crushed his skull!"

"The weapon is ready, my Lord!" Another grunt called out, looking at him expectantly.

"Oh good," X-79 said. He smiled, and the underling visibly shuddered at its gruesome sight. "Shut it off."

"W-what?"

"Shut it off," X-79 repeated sensibly. "Honestly, that was a rash order. Ordering warfare on an entire city! Ha! Can you imagine what our superiors would say if we tossed our worlds into battle?"

"… Of course, my Lord. What… what are your orders then?"

At that moment, the five teens burst through the door.

"What have you done with X?" Robin shouted, swinging his staff expertly through his fingers.

X-79 gave a placating smile. "Ah, there you are. I was beginning to worry." He turned and snapped his fingers. It might have been unnecessary, but he discovered his snaps were much louder and forceful in this form. He kept snapping while he talked, ignoring the jaw-drops on the teens' faces.

"Let them go safely, and take us home. I tire of this planet."

"But… the escaped prisoner…" The Gordanian protested weakly.

"Bah! Who cares? Take us home, now!"

"… Of… of course… your lordship." The poor underling turned and quietly began programming the ship's coordinates for home.

"Now… let's get you off my nasty ship, eh?" X-79 lumbered over to the group, oblivious to the shell-shocked expressions as he hoisted them up and carried them down the hallway. He waited until the doors had closed behind them before he dropped them and slid out of the Gordanian's body.

"Okay, we're done."

Every single one of them stared in shock.

"X… how did… how did you…?" Robin asked weakly, trailing a hand through his hair in bewilderment. X-79 shrugged, taking a small step back, uncomfortable with everyone staring at him. "I overshadowed him. It's like possession."

"Dude…" Beast Boy muttered. "That's really creepy…"

_("I can't tell them, Sam! They'll think I'm just some creepy, half-ghost freak!")_

X-79 averted his eyes uncomfortably. Wrift didn't think his powers were creepy. He thought they were useful.

"Anyway… Raven, can you get us off this thing?"

Robin gently grabbed X-79's arm—he shuddered in delight at the contact—and tugged him closer, making him a part of the circle. A whispered incantation and one black bubble later, and they were off the ship, standing on good old solid Earth. As one, they turned and watched the ship's thrusters burn, propelling it far, far away into the night sky.

"Okay," Robot-boy said simply, grinning widely. "I'm only gonna say this once. Booyah!"

**.**

**.**

"X… thank you."

X-79 looked up, one black eyebrow creasing momentarily. "Hmm?"

Robin—or Dick, as he was now dressed in a civilian outfit, sat down beside him on the hotel's bench.

"I have a feeling things would have been a whole lot harder without your help."

"Oh. Okay." X-79 searched vaguely for the appropriate words. "You're welcome."

They were waiting in the hotel lobby. It was quiet and, though brightly it inside, early morning outside the building.

"I had a lot of fun, tonight." Dick looked down at his hands. "I ran away from Bruce—Mr. Wayne, to you—because I couldn't handle being treated as a sidekick," he said very softly. The receptionist was gone, making Dick and X-79 the only ones in the lobby. Maybe she had run away in panic from the alien invasion. "I thought I would run solo… but I guess I'm not cut out for that." He gave a small half-smile. "Cyborg and I talked it over… we were thinking we might build a headquarters somewhere in the city and form a team with everyone, hence the communicators. Would you like to be a part of it?"

X-79 thought about it.

"No," he answered truthfully.

"What? Why? You were awesome!"

"Thanks, but—"

"—But he would love to join!"

They both looked up in shock at the figure of Vlad Masters leaning over them, smirking crookedly. Outside, there was a black limousine parked a little ways down the street, nearly invisible in the dark. "It's a wonderful opportunity, isn't it, Daniel?"

X-79 clenched his fists but bowed his head submissively. "Of course," he muttered a moment later. He didn't want to join, but he supposed… he supposed he had to, in order to fulfill his mission. Masters' shark-like smile broadened, and X-79 realized a second too late that he'd responded to the name Daniel. He scowled heavily.

Masters clapped his hands. "Excellent! I'll finance the project—how about that beautiful little island out there in the bay, eh? I'll get my best construction advisors on it right away~! Until it's built, I suppose you and your friends can stay in this hotel—I'll pay the fees. Oh, it's fine, Mr. Grayson, I don't mind—money matters very little to me."

Dick stood up and shook Masters' hand, fighting to keep his beaming smile from breaking out. X-79 glared at his lap.

He missed home. Somehow, he had a feeling that he'd just tied himself to something that would change his life, and he didn't like it.

He hated uncertainty, after all.

**.**

**.**

**Q/A Time!**

**Okay, is Vlad good or bad here?**

Right now, sort of in the middle. He's not the type to reform in a day, you know.

**Why did Vlad help them out in the end?**

He sees it as an opportunity to help Danny branch out. I didn't write it, but pretend there was a newscast of the invasion and Vlad saw it on the news, (thus why he wasn't at the hotel by nine), noticing Danny amongst the group of teens.

**Where are Sam and Tucker?**

In Amity. They've been staying at Vlad's Mansion, trying to help Danny recover.

**Who the heck is Wrift?**

-_- Well, nice to know how much you pay attention to my chapters. Go read the second chapter again, you lazy bum!

**Will the story plot be the same?  
**Meh, depends on my mood and if any new brilliant ideas hit me.

**Aren't Sam/Tucker/family evil?**

Again. Don't be lazy. Read last chapter's Q/A.  
**Why didn't Danny transform?**

Well, to put it more awesomely, he didn't exactly feel challenged enough, and he probably won't for a long time. Deal. He'll get there… eventually.

**Why didn't Bruce introduce Dick and Danny?**

Cause he's an awkward turtle, duh. He didn't want to see Dick, especially so soon after Dick ran away.

**TWO LAST THINGS: Darkverger1: Duh, I want to be your friend. **** The more the merrier, in my book. I'm glad you like my story, and I encourage your Christian faith to remain strong. **

**Little miss BANANNA HEAD: I did consider using your idea, but I really wanted Danny to be with them from the beginning. Sorry.**

**EDIT: (5/4/13 and yes I already skimmed through it again) : Fixed some grammatical stuff, nothing major.**


	4. Chapter 3

**AN: (Smashes head into keyboard) WHERE—IS—MY—MOJO?**

**I swear to you, every single freaking time I sat down to write this chapter, my writing quality was horrible and I hated it. BLARG. **

_Ishmu the Crazy: 'Batman called Robin to see Danny in the first place, so why was he so surprised at how oddly Danny was acting? Did Bruce not tell Robin about Danny's capture and programming?'_

**Answer: Well, in my head, I picture Bruce and Robin having an extremely bad relationship at the moment. I kind of envisioned Batman just calling him and telling him in his short Batman-ish way that Robin was going to be watching a 'kid' who has 'issues' and then abruptly ending the call. Sorry, I probably should've written that scene, but I wanted to get right to the action. Thanks for reviewing! **

**So anyway, here's to hoping you're all having a nice summer. The last few chapters have been really angsty. I decided it was time for some fluff. Enjoy.**

**.**

**.**

In X-79's opinion, he thought it was kind of ugly. Tall. Thick. Yellow and black. It looked like some giant mutant bee-hive, in a way. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine the buzz of giant mutant insects pulsing inside the structure. He had never liked bees.

"It's perfect," Robin breathed from beside him. His grin almost split his face in half.

X-79 looked at the massive T-shaped building with vacant blue eyes (honestly, wasn't it a bit excessive? There were only six of them, after all) and tilted his head, considering. How was it architecturally stable? It didn't seem like a very intelligent design to him.

He did not want to go in.

"Come on, let's go." Robin began making his way up the craggy island, light peals of airy, pleased laughter still streaming from his parted lips. X-79's mouth tipped downwards in a slight frown. He did not move.

He did not want to go in there.

He just didn't.

"X?"

Robin stopped, looking at him strangely. X-79 stared back flatly.

Robin glanced at the structure, and then back at X-79, and sighed, touching his temples as if to soothe away his frustrations.

"X. Come on. Don't be a baby," he growled, wondering if he was going to have to pick the boy up and manhandle him inside. It had happened before, at the hotel they'd been living in for the past few months. (Robin winced at the memory, his face flushing as he recalled the annoying experience.)

"No."

"X."

"No."

_"Please?"_

"…"

"… X?"

"No."

Robin tossed his hands up in the air, snarling silently, and gave up, turning around and resuming his climb.

"FINE! Stay outside and get soaked, for all I care!"

The sky above them was nearly black, even though it was still mid-day, and ominous thunderstorm clouds had been piling up all morning long. The weatherman had called for a particularly fierce storm. Robin, being impatient, had gone ahead with his plan to settle into the Tower anyway. With the sun blotted out, an eerie pallor had fallen over Jump, muting sounds, sending animals running for shelter. Even the air itself felt still, somehow.

X-79 interpreted Robin's frustrated exclamation as an order. So, as Robin ascended the rocky path, he found a nice comfortable boulder and sat down, disinterestedly watching the glass-smooth bay, noting how the water reflected the black sky overhead like a mirror. He pricked his ears, listening as Robin slammed the behemoth of a building's door shut, leaving him alone.

Well, that was fine with him. He didn't like people, anyway.

He sat ramrod straight, his fingers curled like claws around his knees. His eyes sparked, a bit of life returning to them as he visually raked the skies.

He was waiting for Wrift.

The wind suddenly picked up, curling around him like a tangible thing, tugging fruitlessly at his clothing: a simple white long-sleeved T and black cargo pants. The clothes were loose and comfortable. X-79 liked looking at his shirt and daydreaming of his home.

His eyelids slipped shut, the temporary gleam of life in them fizzling out of existence, like a snuffed candle. Tension melted gradually from his form. The sounds of black, churning waves and the wind twining around his form bled together in a sort of white noise. He felt light, like he was drifting away on a cloud.

He slept.

**.**

**.**

_He is shoved roughly through the gaping automatic doors. He screams and thrashes and claws, but his nails had been reduced to harmless stubs and the grip on his upper arms is too strong. The massive gloved fingers dig bluntly into his pale flesh. He winces as they ghost over a mottled bruise._

_The hands leave him as the doors slam shut behind him, like a beast snapping its jaw shut. He is trapped in its belly. He is trapped. He is trapped he can't get out he doesn't want to be here why are they doing this—_

_It is so silent._

_The tinted viewing panels that enclose The Ring reveal nothing, but he knows, he **knows **they are watching him, probably drinking coffee and chatting while he fights for his **life**—_

_An angry roar sends him jumping back, his bare feet slipping in the loosely-packed dirt. His heart is an intelligent being trying its best to burst through his ribcage, escape his body. For a moment, he envisions his chest splitting open along the seams of the stitched Y still marking his marble flesh, imagines the blood spurting everywhere, his limp body falling to the dust and his soul leaving this dreadful, hellish place—_

_A ghost flickers into view. It is a horrific sight. Vaguely based off a lion, its body is massive and utterly packed with muscle. Wounds cross its skin like patchwork, leaking ectoplasm and white fluid. It has no fur, excluding its matted mane. Perhaps it has been ripped off, but it makes the disgusting wounds that reveal glowing corded muscle stand out like a black sheep._

_It has crazed, mean red eyes. Eyes that lock onto him. A low bellow, like thunder, pulls back its lips as it charges._

_Danny—X-79—what is his name what is his name WHAT IS HIS NAME—recoils in fear and helplessness. The cold collar cinched tightly around his neck refuses to permit him to transform. He is powerless._

_Just as the monster's bloody maw snaps open to take a chunk out of his upper body, the ringlet of metal emits a high-pitched chirp, the light flashing from red to green. Cool energy surges through his veins._

_Maybe it is out of self-defense. Maybe it is his primal fear telling him to fight back. Maybe it is his bloodlust seeking an outlet._

_Whatever it is, it spurs him into driving an energized fist with all the force of a freight train down the beast's red throat, tearing muscle, disintegrating flesh, utterly ripping the fearsome animal apart with his bare hand..._

**.**

**.**

"X! Hey, X! WAKE UP, YOU MORON!"

Gloved hands pulled at his shoulders.

He blinked, sleep leaving him.

He was soaked to the skin. His inky hair was plastered to his skull, creating rivulets of water that flowed over his eyebrows, along the bridge of his straight nose, over his pale lips and clinging to the underside of his soft throat, slipping under his shirt collar. The rainwater was cold, refreshing.

Robin looked half-angry, half-exasperated. Seeing him awake, the teen superhero hooked his arms underneath X-79's armpits, lifting him to his feet. The deluge of rain changed angles with the wind, hitting them like bullets at a nearly horizontal level.

"We're going inside!" Robin screamed over the rolling thunder as he pulled them carefully along the slippery rocks, darkened with moisture. The ocean had risen while X-79 was sleeping. Dark foaming water pounded angrily along the base of the squatting boulders. Spray leapt upwards like a living animal.

X-79 followed Robin's hunched form obediently, nimbly leaping from rock to rock, amusing himself with imagining it all as a game, even as the shrieking wind did its absolute best to tip him into the undulating waters.

Despite the raging storm, they made it to the Tower in record time. Robin pounded the appropriate sequence of buttons that granted them entrance, his fingers nearly a blur. The double doors flashed open, gliding smoothly along their tracks, and the two bedraggled forms fell in at once, just barely managing to pull their feet out of the door's path before they snapped shut. Instantly, the sounds of the storm were muffled, decreasing from a drowning roar to a faint hum.

Robin shook his head wildly, causing a cascade of droplets to splatter X-79's face. The dribbles of water sliding over his skin slowed. Several beads clung to his eyelashes. He blinked them away, watching with a vague sense of amusement as Robin huffed irately, trying to fix his hair into the sleek gelled look it had possessed earlier.

"Why did you come and get me?"

Robin looked at him like he'd grown another head (and hasn't he done that before?). It was the first time X had ever spoken to him of his own volition.

"What are you talking about? Did you want to drown? The water level was rising—if I'd been a few more minutes, you'd be in water half-up to your waist!"

X-79 gently reminded Robin that he didn't need to breathe. At least, not in his other form. Robin rolled his eyes behind his wet mask, choosing delicately to just accept that statement and move on. The Bat's protégé gripped his hand and led him into the Tower. X-79 smiled at the squelch-squelch sound of Robin's shoes on the crushed velvet carpet.

Twenty minutes later found them curled on the large sofa, in a new change of clothes, both holding thick, homely porcelain mugs of hot chocolate, watching the storm outside. The sound of rain drumming against the glass windows was a soothing noise that lulled them into tranquil states, Robin's previous annoyance forgotten.

X-79 drank his hot cocoa slowly, savoring its rich taste, swirling the sweet liquid in his mouth. His fingers burned, as did his scorched tongue, but he didn't mind the sensation. He rested his head against the brand new sofa's back, his half-dry mop of hair leaving a damp mark.

"I've already toured the Tower while you were doing your best to drown yourself," Robin told him tiredly from his position lying on his back in the middle of the couch. His sleepiness lightened his sarcasm, making the statement more of a quiet slur than a sharp reprimand. "I guess I can show you around tomorrow morning." His feet were propped up on X-79's lap, a knit blanket pooled around his legs and X-79's bent knees. The position was easily familiar to them both. In the months, nearly a year, actually, that it took to build the Tower, they had become familiar with each other's presence. Being in close contact didn't bother either of them, and X-79 suspected that Robin, at least on some level, had recognized his touch starvation, and was discretely trying to do something about it.

It was… nice. Rutha, X-79 thought fondly, remembering Starfire.

The rest of their so-called 'Team' was currently living at another apartment, paid for by Vlad. They were supposed to collect them tomorrow morning, help them settle into the Tower.

"Okay," X-79 said. His enhanced eyes followed a particularly large raindrop that crossed one of the windowpanes, accumulating more and more water as it traveled, swallowing up the other smaller droplets in its path.

He looked over after a silent minute, prompted by the lack of response. Robin's head was leaning forward, his fingers loosening around the precariously-tilting mug. Quick as a flash, X-79 snatched the warm mug from the boy's limp hands before it could spill, setting it on the coffee table. Robin's head lolled backwards onto the thick couch cushions, his breathing settling into a slower, more even pace. His drying black locks spread out in a halo around his face. He looked young.

X-79 smiled hesitantly at the sight—he still wasn't used to smiling—and nestled himself into the couch, pulling the thick blanket higher over his lithe frame. Thunder crashed and lightning lanced through the stormy heavens.

X-79 sat and watched the storm progress, somehow feeling more 'okay' than he had in a long time.

**.**

**.**

**AN: Am I the only one who has ever made a cup of hot cocoa and curled up on a couch to watch a storm? It's very relaxing. (I absolutely hate thunder, so that's my therapy-way of getting over it.) **

**One of the things I wanted to be different about this story was Robin and Danny's relationship. Danny was far too lonely in the original. Danny and Robin are going to (eventually) be like bro's. In my head, I imagine Robin as the cranky older brother and Danny as the silently clueless/deadly younger. Heheh. **


End file.
